The Curious Journey of Mrs Darling's Hidden Kiss
by Calapine
Summary: From the nursery to Neverland, it's up to George to rescue his wife's most elusive possession.


_A/N: This story contains both slash and het of a non-explicit variety._

**The Curious Journey of Mrs Darling's Hidden Kiss**

The day that Mr Darling returned to Neverland was the day that Mrs Darling's hidden kiss was stolen.

One evening, upon his return from the bank, George Darling found his wife in the nursery, even more distressed than usual. The window was open, of course, but Mrs Darling paid it no attention as she paced to and fro, her mouth an uneasy frown and her eyes pale.

"Whatever is the matter?" asked Mr Darling. "The children...?" He cast an uneasy eye at the empty beds, but Mrs Darling shook her head.

"O, George," she said. "I thought...I thought..." But Mrs Darling could not quite bring herself to say what she thought, as she gently touched one forefinger to the right-hand corner of her mouth.

Mr Darling's eyes widened, and if he had tried to speak just then I feel sure he should have stuttered. But he did not, though you might notice a slight tightening of muscles around his throat, for he was very worried indeed.

After a few seconds, he said, "Your kiss has gone." Mrs Darling nodded miserably, and Mr Darling could see the beginning of tears in her eyes.

"I was so sure it was a dream," she said, unable to meet her husband's eyes. "I thought...I thought..."

But Mr Darling, suspecting that he would never hear what she thought anyway, interrupted her and said, quite bravely "I shall find your hidden kiss and return it you."

And for an instant he saw his love's sweet mocking mouth turn into a smile and he felt very pleased with himself for what he had said. It was to last only a moment though, before she asked, "But, George, are you sure?"

"Well, I must know where it has gone first," said Mr Darling feeling more than a little unhappy that his wife's admiration of him did not seem to extend further than a neat row of correctly added up figures.

And then Mrs Darling told Mr Darling who had stolen her hidden kiss. She did not tell a completely true account, for she did love to tell stories and a good storyteller will always embellish the tale, but nor did she tell a complete fiction. What she said to Mr Darling I will not relate, but this is what actually occurred:

Mrs Darling sat by the open window, her eyes closed as she faced the night sky. Cool air swept through the nursery, causing her to shiver in her sleep and in her dreams she would often think of the breeze as little ghosts who had come to comfort her in her grief.

She found herself waking frequently, and, without fail, each time she felt her eyes flutter open she turned to the three beds. Sometimes she would see her three children peacefully asleep, and then she would know that she was dreaming. Sometimes the beds were empty, and then she would be unsure as to whether she slept or not.

It was on one of those occasions when she had awoken to find the beds empty that she found she was not alone in the nursery. Just by the window and cast in shadow she caught a silhouette. She would have started at seeing a stranger in her home, but for the fact that she believed that it was Mr Darling.

"How strange," she murmured to herself, sitting up in her chair. The figure turned towards her and for a moment she was afraid as she caught a flash of red in the eyes that stared at her. But indeed she had been correct, it was her beloved husband, and yet he was dressed so extraordinarily that she knew it must be a dream. "Why am I dreaming of you?" she asked, standing and addressing the pirate.

"I do not know, madam," replied the pirate in a voice not unlike Mr Darling's, as he gave her a graceful bow. "Perhaps it would all make so much more sense if this were merely a dream."

"I know I prefer my dreams, mostly, for sometimes I can see my children again," said Mrs Darling softly.

"And in mine I finally end my search for Pan, and am given that satisfaction of seeing him display bad form just before he dies," the pirate smiled.

"Pan?" asked Mrs Darling, for though she was shocked at the mention of killing, her thoughts were, as always, foremost on her children. "You know of Pan?"

"Ay," he said, "it was he who gave me this." And he held up his right arm. Mrs Darling gasped as she saw the vicious glint of metal, for there, instead of a hand was an iron hook.

"But he is only a boy," she said, "and he has taken my children from me."

"Then he has wronged you as well as I," said the pirate. "He often comes to watch at the window. Perhaps tonight we will both have our revenge."

"I do not want revenge. I want my children back," said Mrs Darling severely, "And that is all that is important."

"They will not come back," said the pirate. "They will forget."

"No!" cried Mrs Darling and she leaned out of the window, her eyes searching across the stars.

"Pan has his Wendy now. He has his mother. He will not let her return."

"But I am her mother," said Mrs Darling. "She needs a mother too, for she is but a child."

"There are many who survive without either," said the pirate and Mrs Darling caught the sadness that clouded his eyes for but a moment, and she felt a swell of pity.

"You have no mother?" she asked quietly.

"Alas," shrugged the pirate, "Hook is alone. Always alone."

"Hook?" asked Mrs Darling uncertainly, her eyes straying to the instrument of his right arm.

The pirate bowed gallantly again, this time removing his hat with a flourish. "Captain James Hook, madam." And he caught Mrs Darling's hand in his own and kissed it gently. Mrs Darling was taken aback for a moment, but then she smiled and bobbed a curtsy in return as she was reminded of childhood games that had long ago been put away in one of the more hidden boxes that she kept her thoughts in.

"If you are a captain, sir, surely you have crew?"

"Of fools and cretins, madam, and constantly bested by a rag-tag group of children." Hook sighed heavily. "It is a lonely existence." And he said the last with such exquisite pain and sorrow that Mrs Darling felt quite moved.

"I confess that I do long for a mother," he said miserably, sitting on Wendy's bed. "Or at the very least the memory of one."

Mrs Darling sat next to him, and said, "I cannot give you that; I have children of my own." And though Mrs Darling would happily say that there was no limit to a mother's love and that she would love any child in her care, when she looked at Hook she could see only her husband. And Mr Darling, being very aware of the exact cost it took to raise a child and being very wary of being able to do so in such a way that the neighbours would not be encouraged to gossip, had done little more than kiss her since Micheal had been born.

She glanced at Hook, and saw that sadness still filled his expression. Gently, she placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "One day, we must all learn to live without our mothers. I have been without mine for many years."

"Do you miss her?" asked Hook.

"Oh yes," said Mrs Darling, "but only when I think of her. And that is less and less often. Perhaps I will forget her eventually, I must think of my own children first."

"I have no children to think of," replied Hook.

"But you have a crew," said Mrs Darling, "and they will depend on you for guidance and leadership. It is not so very different."

"But I do not love them," said Hook. "And they fear me."

"But that is terrible," said Mrs Darling. "Why, to be without love is a dreadful thing," and she saw him nod miserably with a glint in his eye that she mistook for a tear. And hearing the pain in that voice that could sound so like her husband's, she forgot herself and reached over to kiss him. She ran her tongue along his bottom lip tasting seawater and cigars, and felt his arms wrap around her, then one hand caress her collar bone, his other...she jerked away, eyes wide.

"Whatever is the matter?" asked Hook, and Mrs Darling felt a shiver of fright as all sadness had vanished from his expression as though it had never been there.

"Your hook," she managed. "It really isn't suitable for the bedroom."

A smile twisted his lips and he said, "I cannot remove it myself." Mrs Darling nodded, and found herself kneeling in front of him her delicate fingers moving down his black silk shirt, quickly undoing the buttons as Hook smiled down at her. She pulled it off him, exposing his chest and the leather contraption that attached the vicious metal spike to his arm.

Hook used his good arm to pull Mrs Darling towards him, and as he leaned in to kiss her, Mrs Darling found that she could see nothing but her husband's blue eyes.

She did not notice when he stole her kiss from the corner of her mouth.

"The rogue!" exclaimed Mr Darling.

"Oh, yes," agreed Mrs Darling. "Though I thought it was but a dream."

"I shall return you kiss to you," declared Mr Darling again.

Mrs Darling said nothing, but she did smile sweetly. If she had thought about it, she might have wondered how Mr Darling was planning to go about his self-appointed task, but she did not. Instead, she merely wished that Mr Darling realised that she did think him brave, and there was really no need for him to insist upon proving it in this foolish way.

If I were to relate the way in which Mr Darling returned to Neverland, I very much doubt you would believe me, and though there is much in this story that is fantastic, I prefer that there is at least the possibility of truth about it. We shall, therefore, join Mr Darling as he stumbles through the nighttime jungle of Neverland, a victim of hostile terrain and a terrible sense of direction.

The land was frozen, but he ignored the oddness of a jungle covered in frost because he knew he would not find what he was looking for here. Thoughts of his children briefly entered his mind, but he knew that they were with Pan and Pan was not here.

He was dimly aware that his pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers were not suitable attire for a stroll across the Neverland, but that had never concerned him before and it certainly did not bother him now.

So Mr Darling made his way to the shore, struggling to remember the way. Occasionally he would push his spectacles back into place, and often he could be seen taking a glance over his shoulder. Every few minutes he would pause, and listen carefully because Mr Darling knew the predators of this jungle were not those of an ordinary jungle. Here one would be scalped by Red Indians, speared by a Lost Boy or shot by a pirate, if one were not careful, but Mr Darling was perhaps the most careful person you could ever hope to meet.

Sooner than he realised, Mr Darling arrived at the sea, and saw that it was a slush of ice and water. But there, not more then a few hundred yards from the shore, the Jolly Roger was anchored. It was a sorry picture, frozen into the sea around it, but the sight of it caused Mr Darling to smile, for this was his destination.

Without fully considering what he was doing, Mr Darling began stepped onto the sea. It was not wholly solid – he could hear the splash of waves in little pools of free water – but he was careful and found himself able to slip and slide his way to the Jolly Roger.

Getting on board the ship was an entirely different matter. There was no watch posted, for such was Hook's fearsome reputation that none aboard felt that one was needed, but the ship was three decks high and slippery with ice. Still, Mr Darling adjusted his spectacles and set to climbing aboard with much difficulty.

When he swung himself over the side and onto the deck, he paused, his eyes searching the shadows. At this moment, it did not occur to him to be afraid, for he was cold and tired and somewhat relieved at having had such an easy time reaching the Jolly Roger.

However, he was not quite sure what to do next. He knew that Hook would most likely be in his cabin, and was quite probably still awake, but he did not want to face him armed only with his righteous indignation.

As quietly, as carefully, as he could, Mr Darling snuck below decks to the armoury. Such was the arrogance of the ship's master that even this room was unguarded and unlocked. His hand shaking, Mr Darling picked up a cutlass and held it up unsteadily in his right hand. How awkward it felt to him, and he thought uncomfortably of the old adage, the pen is mightier than the sword, and he knew that it would not be true on this ship.

He heard the creak of wood behind him and swung around, the cutlass held in front of him in a vague attempt at holding it en guarde.

"Why, it's young George, isn't it?" said the rotund shape in front of him. "Whatever are you doing here? And, my, haven't you grown?"

"Bo'sun Smee?" George found his voice growing distinctly reedier with shock. Didn't things ever change around here? And how had Smee managed to survive so long anyway? Pirates died almost as often as Lost Boys and Smee was not much of a pirate. Only the two kings were ever safe. "Smee, I've grown up, but I've had to come back. The Captain's stolen something of...of mine. Something very precious. I need to get it back."

"He'll gut you for stealing from the stores, Master George, however fond he once was of you. You'd best get out of here before he finds out you're on board."

"I can't..." insisted George helplessly, as he found his arm grabbed by the Irish bo'sun and himself propelled up on deck. His words tripped on his tongue as he found himself on deck, cool night air biting at his skin, and a dozen or more pairs of eyes staring at him in undisguised glee.

He gripped the hilt of the sword more firmly, ignoring the rough snort of laughter that he heard from his left and glancing at Smee. The pirate had a distinctly guilty look in his eyes, but that didn't stop his survival instinct swinging into action. "Caught him in the hold!" Smee cried, backing slowly away from George. "Where's the Captain? I caught him in the hold, I did!"

"Thief, is it? Or saboteur?" asked a dark voice. The pirates on deck made way for that voice, their eyes falling to the deck, their movements subtly widening the distance between George and themselves. Only Smee kept his ground.

George followed the voice as best he could, watching the tall silhouette move towards him, until he was close enough to make out his features.

And George Darling stared at the man that he wasn't.

George knew a great deal about James Hook. He knew who James Hook was, and what he had given up to become a pirate. He knew that the social status that so eluded George had been bestowed by birth upon James Hook, and yet the Captain had carelessly tossed it away, not caring what the world thought of him as he pursued his obsessions.

How George wished he were brave enough to do the same. How Mr Darling wished he were brave.

The Captain tutted softly. "Do you intend to fight all of us, George?"

Mr Darling's eyes did not stray from the Captain's. He searched his opponent's face, and found what he was looking for. There, just at the corner of Hook's mouth was Mrs Darling's hidden kiss. Mr Darling suppressed the indignation that welled up inside him, suspecting that Hook would be unimpressed by protestations, and that his own voice would betray his terror.

"I have come for the kiss," said George, and he felt rather proud at having managed to keep his tone so very steady.

Hook grinned, a most disturbing look that sent a jolt of fear through Mr Darling. The white teeth, the bright eyes, made him seem predatory, and for the first time Mr Darling felt his eyes drawn towards that terrible hook. For an instant, he imagined it being plunged into his chest, but swiftly pushed such gory thoughts aside. The Captain took a step forward, unconcerned, though George, desperately trying to remember what he knew of sword fighting, suspected that if he were a better fighter, he could have lunged at the Captain from this distance, spearing him with his sword. Alas, George, even in his prime, was a poor fighter, and could do nothing but stand, waiting for the Captain to speak.

"You want the kiss?" murmured Hook, the smile still playing on his lips.

George nodded.

"Then come and take it," challenged Hook.

George's eyes widened, and he ignored the grins from the crew, amused by the night's entertainment. He forced his features to remain expressionless and took three short steps forward, then hesitantly pecked Hook at the edge of his lips.

The Captain raised an eyebrow, and said, "Oh no, George, you'll have to do much better than that."

It was all very civilised, of course. There was food and wine and conversation, and Hook could be extraordinarily charming when he wanted to be. George was well aware of that.

He swallowed down food as best he could, and drank because he needed something to do with his hands. He could feel Smee hovering over his shoulder, refilling the glass, as he listened to Hook's voice. The man seemed delighted to be entertaining, and either did not notice or did not care about the disinterest of his guest. Not at the moment, anyway.

"You have a charming wife, George," Hook said, and that caught George's attention. Hook's smile spread as he continued, "And a lovely daughter."

"Wendy?" stuttered George, putting down his glass. "What...?" But he refused to consider the thought. "Why did you take the kiss?" he asked instead.

"It is a mother's kiss," replied the Captain, touching the side of his lips gently. "You should know better than anyone, George. After all, that's how you got here the first time."

George blinked, and tried not to remember, but it was futile: Being a sensible boy, young George Darling had not fallen out of his pram in Kensington Gardens. Instead, one morning he had heard a conversation about his mother, and how she would be leaving the family forever. Young George could not bear to think about life without his beloved mother, and had promptly run away, hoping to find where she was going. Instead he had found Captain Hook.

"It is not your kiss," he told Hook.

"Then whose?" asked Hook. "For it certainly does not belong to you. You have had enough opportunities to take it."

George watched Smee refill his glass again, and did not reply, for he feared that Hook might be right.

George knew that he was drunk. He could see Hook's forget-me-not blue eyes staring at him, and could see that predatory smile, and he knew that he should be a great deal more worried than he was. Especially when he felt Hook's boot moved against his leg.

He pretended to be more drunk than what he was when Hook lifted him to his feet, because his good Victorian morals wouldn't let him do what he wanted, and he needed a scapegoat. A pirate's ill-gotten brandy and wine seemed as good as any, and George decided as he felt Hook's lips move against his own that he was far to drunk to do anything to stop him.

Alas, poor George, he thought, embellishing his pretend as best he could, for a guilty conscience was an ugly companion. After a moment, he considered that the fact he was enjoying the feel of Hook's body against his own might not convince his conscience to believe the pretend.

His face felt warm, but that too, he blamed on the drink, and he felt Hook's hand unbuttoning his shirt, and he knew that he'd have to undo that contraption that the Captain used to keep his hook on, but he doubted that Hook would remember how much he hated to do that. Hook's hook. Without it, George felt able to pity the man, and he did not want that. He wanted to hate, but that too eluded him. How could he hate, when he found the Captain, terrible as he was, such an admirable man?

George had not meant to fall asleep. Still, he found himself waking in Hook's bed, one of the Captain's arms draped over his shoulder, and his thoughts hazy from the after effects of alcohol.

_Hook's teeth nipping tenderly at his neck. His strong arms embracing him, pulling him towards him, kissing him firmly, with almost bruising intensity. The feel of the hook trailing down his back, harsh, cutting cold. A muffled whimper. The reply, a soft laugh._

Noting that it was still dark, he slipped out of the bed as quietly as he could and collected his nightclothes. As he dressed, he noted that too many of his garments seemed to have been carelessly ripped, and he shuddered to think how he would explain that to Mrs Darling.

He looked down at Hook, still asleep. Even now his handsome features were still haunted, yet his breathing was peaceful. His stump was hidden beneath twisted sheets, and the fingers of his left hand were curled, as though he were holding a sword.

_His fingers ran through dark hair, like silk against his skin. "Why did you run away?" asked a dark voice at an inopportune moment. "You found a new obsession," came the breathless reply._

He reached out and ran his fingers down Hook's cheek, a gentle caress that did not disturb the Captain. And for that moment George Darling wished that he could stay. He wished that the real world were his dream and he was a pirate, though not a particularly brave one, and he could stay with this dark, tragic man whom he had such admiration for. But then his thoughts passed to his children, and to his dear wife, and he knew that he had responsibilities, and that he must attend to them. It was his duty to do so.

_"Stay with me."_

_"I'm married."_

_"So?"_

He could not say goodbye, and he was not entirely sure that Hook would let him. He felt pity flood over him now. When he left, Hook would be alone again, but George knew he could not survive in this savage world, not now. And one day, Hook would be free too.

_He looked up into dark, shadowed eyes, and felt a moment of fear. Faded forget-me-nots, and he wondered what Hook had forgotten. His fingers moved across Hook's bare chest, caressing scars, and he was chilled by how new some of them appeared to be._

His eyes drifted across Hook's features, and there nestled at the corner of his mouth, George could see Mrs Darling's hidden kiss. Quietly, tenderly, he leaned across the bed and kissed Hook, and he could feel the kiss tucked securely next to his own lips. Hook did not stir.

_He felt kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, his neck. Hook's movements becoming stronger, more forceful. A soft cry. His back arched. He thought only of Hook, as he heard the pirate whisper in his ear._

George looked back only once. A ghost of a smile touched his face, and he whispered, "Sweet dreams, James."

When Mr Darling returned to the nursery, he found Mrs Darling asleep by the open window.

He woke her with a kiss, and as she opened her eyes her sweet face lit up with a smile. She stood, and embraced her husband before giving him a gentle peck on the cheek.

"Dear George," she said, her smile still bright. "I was afraid I would not see you again." And Mr Darling felt a twinge of annoyance that she would doubt him. He pushed the thought aside, and kissed his beloved wife. When he pulled away, he was surprised to find that her hidden kiss had not been returned to her. He blinked, confusion on his face.

"Do you not want your kiss returned to you?"

"You keep it," said Mrs Darling, "it suits you much better." And Mr Darling felt terribly pleased.

Of course, Mrs Darling took her kiss back eventually for it was not meant for Mr Darling any more than it was meant for Hook, and the day that her children returned from to the nursery she was quite satisfied for Peter Pan to take it back to Neverland with him.

And thus ended the journey of Mrs Darling's hidden kiss.


End file.
